Detective Alex Trotter ducked under the yellow "Police Line - Do Not Cross" tape strewn liberally around the perimeter of the Miota Arena parking lot. Alex sighed; another long day in L.A. Why didn’t crime ever take a break. He thought again of his ideas of transferring to somewhere in Montana so he could get some rest, maybe someday. He glanced back over his shoulder and watched the ugly smog roll over the ocean and make its way onto the city, and realized that he loved this town secretly, with all its flaws and excitement. He sighed again. "All this sighing and their gonna put you back on desk duty" he said to himself, and walked through the double glass doors into the lobby of the arena. The lobby was worse than the mall at Christmas. Whoever had ticker taped the parking lot had had a field day inside the lobby. Alex was surprised tape was not hanging from the chandeliers. "Rookies," he mumbled to himself. He looked around for Mike, a beat officer who usually shot straight with him, and had helped him out in more ways then one. He spotted him taking a report from a striking young woman probably in her late twenties. Her hair was a rich blonde, accented by the ruby red evening gown she wore. "More cotton in a aspirin bottle," he mused. He glanced at the dress again carefully this time. Besides being cut and tight in all the right places, he noticed it was not any off the hanger deal. Being a detective for as long he had been he had familiarized himself with types of clothes, for here in L.A. clothes made the man, or in this case the woman. So with this knowledge he observed that most likely this was a specially made dress. It was too fit on her and the measurements seemed to be too exact. He moved closer to the cop and young woman. A grin slipped onto his face when he noticed the exasperated look on Mikes face. Apparently the woman wasn't all that bright. All looks and no brains. Alex moved closer and tried to hide the stupid grin from Mike. "Ok, look mam. You can go home when we say you can. I'm quite sorry about your cat not liking being inside for long amounts of time, but there has been a murder so you’re just going to have to be calm until we straighten everything out.” Alex caught Mikes eye and nodded toward the far wall. Mike excused himself from the blonde bombshell and walked over to the far wall where Alex was standing. The exchanged pleasantries then Alex asked, "What’s the deal Mike?” Mike heaved a sigh tinged with weariness, and flipped open his leather-bound notebook. "Tonight was the high point of fashion industry designer Damon Laurence. In case you’re wondering I got that off of the flyers plastered all over this joint." Alex turned slowly, looking around the lobby. The Posters were everywhere. Large giant lime green, with pink accents, pieces of paper covered almost every empty spot in the arena lobby. The pictures on the posters were of a skinny, balding, older gentleman in his late 50's in a robe. The picture was black and white so Alex couldn’t tell what color his hair was, but he guessed at a graying black, or dark brown. "So who pulled the short straw?" Alex asked. "Only Damon Laurence, himself.” Mike grunted. "Well that puts a damper on the evening", Alex mused. "Where is he?" Alex asked. "Right this way," Mike said turning and leading the way toward a long hallway. "Apparently, Mr. D.L. never got to see his show. He never left his dressing room.” "How do we know that?" Alex asked. Mike kept walking down the long hallway that seemed to stretch to china. “The show was supposed to start at 7.23 pm. Mr. D.L. showed up with his driver at roughly 6.18, and went straight to his dressing room. From there the driver took a hike and Mr. L. started to change into his tuxedo for the evening.” Mike opened the door and the former Damon Laurence lay on his back in a glossy housecoat with a surprised expression on his otherwise peaceful face. Mike continued, “Damon Laurence, age 53, rather short at 5’8”, not a billionaire but definitely not out on the street. Currently valued at just over 2 ‘mill.”